


Leave the Light On

by AustenJane



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Redemption, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:13:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustenJane/pseuds/AustenJane
Summary: People may not change. But he isn’t people. He’s Oliver. Her Oliver. And she agreed to love him, for better or worse. Or at least, she intended to. And she gets what that means now.





	Leave the Light On

**Author's Note:**

> *Read before continuing on or you'll be hella confused*
> 
> I wrote this almost two years ago, after I struggled to make any sense of Season 4B. I just recently found it while going through my stuff and decided to post it (with a changed ending). This fic is basically an AU if Oliver never sent William away and follows the premise that William has become a part of his life after he and Samantha came to a tentative agreement. It takes place sometime after Felicity finds out about William and before Laurel's death.
> 
> I haven't posted a fanfiction in years (never for Arrow) and this is my first time posting on the site. Please be kind if I've messed something up in the categorization (it's totally possible) just let me know in the comments and I'll try to fix it. Also, feel free to drop a comment. I'd like to know your thoughts!
> 
> The song title comes from John Mayer's, "Back to You."

 

She never thought it’d happen like this. Dirty, against a hard, wood column with her dress still on and her nails digging into his back.

She thought it would have been tender and sweet. She thought they would have at least looked into each others eyes. She thought he would’ve kissed her.

But it did happen. In between grunts and tears and long unspoken apologies. In the midst of their desperate, devastated, anger fueled sex.

* * *

 She waited to tell him until it was confirmed by a blood test.

Then, she waited until doctors ran the gamut of tests to see if her chip progress wouldn’t be set back.

Finally, waited until she heard the heartbeat for herself.

* * *

 She was eight weeks along when she finally gained the courage to meet him at the apartment he had been subletting in Thea’s building.

She had knocked on the door, not previously alerting him to her arrival. She figured it was better this way. No expectations.

She didn’t expect to hear the commotion coming from the apartment. The jubilant sound of life and laughter. 

She hadn’t expected his son to open the door.

“Felicity?” He beamed. His blue eyes, his father’s blue eyes, illuminated and his cheeks flushed.

“Come in! We were just gonna eat some pizza!”

Before she could answer, the boy grabbed her hand and pulled her in.

She was greeted by the sight of Oliver serving Samantha a slice with extra cheese and pepperoni.

It made her sick.

* * *

 She hunched over Oliver’s toilet, heaving, with tears pricking at her eyes as he pounded on the door. 

“Felicity? Are you alright? 

She couldn’t answer. Between the embarrassment, the devastation of seeing him with his _family_ , the bile rising in her throat, it was too much.

“Felicity?” He pleaded.

He didn’t wait for her to answer this time. She heard him retreat from the door to return a second later as he fiddled with the door handle and then pulled it open, a dropped butter knife clambering at his feet.

“Felici—“ He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, pale-faced, coughing over the bowl.

“Baby,” he cooed. 

Just like before, just like nothing had ever happened between them, he fell to his knees behind her, collecting her hair in one hand as he rubbed her newly healed back with the other.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, in between heaves, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your family time.”

“Felicity,” he breathes, “You _are_ my family.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. She has to tell him. She doesn’t want to lose the nerve. But, it just feels wrong to do it like this. With her here. With William. She doesn’t want to seem like a burden.

As if he can hear her thoughts, he asks her in a whisper, “What’s going on, Felicity? Is this some sort of reaction to your treatment…”

“No,” she answers, her voice small.

“You can tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that right?”

A whimper escapes her lips and she grabs some tissue to wipe her mouth. She gains purchase on the wall and tries to get herself up as he braces her waist, standing up right behind her.

She turns to him, and stares into his unreadable eyes for a long moment before muttering one last, “I’m sorry.” She marches right out of the apartment, past a stunned Samantha, and past sweet little William who had called after her. “Bye, Felicity! I hope you feel better!”

* * *

 He shows up to the loft only an hour later, after telling Samantha that he’d make it up to William next weekend.  

But, she isn’t there. 

He waits for hours outside her door. 

She never shows. 

He gets a frantic call from Digg and heads to the lair. 

She’s there, dutiful as always, but she doesn’t acknowledge what happened earlier in the day. She can’t, really. There are more pressing matters than the sad state of their relationship. 

He decides to let it go, for nothing else other than that he doesn’t want her to run again. 

He just wants to be near her, even if the closest he’ll get is her barking directions in his ear.

She’s safe in the lair, and that’s where he wants her to stay tonight.

* * *

 Laurel dies three hours later.

Thea almost does, too.

He doesn’t go to the hospital with her or Digg. He’s out till the sun comes up, killing Ghost after Ghost, until he can’t anymore.

Laurel is gone. Thea might be soon. Felicity doesn’t want him any more. 

It’s the first time since the island that he seriously considers ending it all.

But, then he remembers Felicity and her dad, and the little boy with his eyes, and he can’t. 

He can’t do it to either of them.

* * *

He doesn’t know how he gets there. He doesn’t remember consciously doing anything until Felicity pulls him inside the loft that was once theirs.

She undresses him from his leathers and leaves everything in a heap on the kitchen floor. 

She grabs his hand and leads him up to their bedroom. 

It’s the first time he’s seen her use stairs since the accident and even in the midst of all the sadness his pride for her overwhelms him. 

He puts a supportive hand to her lower back just incase, but she flinches and his heart sinks. 

He did that to her.

He _broke_ her.

But, just for tonight, she puts it aside.

She leads him to the bed and he holds her in his arms as they cry together and somehow find sleep.

* * *

He wakes before her the next morning and he doesn't want to leave the bed. She’s nestled in his arms and he feels peace for the first time in months. He knows when he gets up, things will go back to how they were. Tense, distant, cold.

But, they have things to do. He needs to see his sister. He needs to help Lance arrange Laurel’s funeral. He needs to kill the man responsible for this.

So, he places a lingering kiss to her head and whispers an, “I love you,” before getting out of bed. He showers, puts on some of his clothes he left there, and goes downstairs to make some coffee.

She saunters down about a half an hour later. It’s clear she’s showered, but honestly? She looks _awful_.

Her eyes have dark circles beneath them, her skin is pale, and her clothes are hanging off of her. She’s lost a dangerous amount of weight in too short a time and fear strikes his heart when he thinks of her vomiting in his apartment the day before. 

He can’t lose her, too. He just can’t.

He fakes a smile and pours her a cup of coffee that she politely refuses.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, “You can’t function without coffee.”

She lets out a sardonic laugh, “I have no choice.”

She catches her slip as she says it and winces, which Oliver picks up on immediately.

“Felicity, why can’t you have coffee?”  
It’s sounds far more like an interrogation than a question and when she looks at his worried face, she knows it is. 

This is not the magical way she pictured it happening. In fact, it’s quite honestly the worst morning of her life. But, she realizes that despite how sucky it is, life is soberingly short. And, she’ll never forgive herself if she loses him or he loses her without ever knowing.

“Felicity?” He asks again.

She looks at him, her eyes welling up as she sucks in a breath.

“Because I’m pregnant.”

She doesn’t know it then, but it’s the very thing that saves them.

* * *

 “You’re pregnant?” He asks, tears unabashedly falling down his cheeks.

She nods, her wet face in a similar state.

“Wow,” is all he can muster, rubbing at his eyes as an actual _laugh_ bubbles up in his throat.

He isn’t sure how. He thought after last night he’d never laugh again. 

“I know this is horrible timing, and I’m not even sure how it happened, and I don’t expect anything from y—“

She doesn’t even see it coming, his lips on hers, his arms gently holding her waist, almost reverently.

When he pulls away he rests his forehead against hers and whispers, “Thank you.”

“Oliver, this doesn’t change anything between us,” She says solemnly.

“I know, I— Felicity, I know it doesn’t undo what I’ve done and I wish I could change everything I did. But please, give me a chance. Just one more chance. _Please_.  

“I have to go get ready. You should go see Thea,” she answers as she pushes away from him, walking up the stairs without a backwards glance. 

* * *

 The next days go by in a blur. They see each other only in passing, when one takes a turn at Thea’s bedside to switch standing vigil with Captain Lance and Sara.

He texts her every few hours to make sure she’s ok. She only responds with one word answers that tell him nothing other than that the pregnancy really hasn’t changed anything between them, at least, not for her.

The night before Laurel’s funeral, Lyla and Digg invite them both over for dinner with Donna in an effort to give Lance and Sara some space to grieve with Laurel’s mother. 

He walks in and finds Felicity on the couch with baby Sara, who’s nuzzled against her neck. She’s singing something to the little girl as she rubs her back. He can’t understand it, it sounds like Hebrew though. He pictures her holding their child just like this and he knows now that because of his mistakes he might not ever be there to witness it.

Donna greets him warmly, as always, and so does Digg and Lyla.

Felicity offers him a smile and gestures at the sleeping girl on her chest as to why she doesn’t greet him, too. 

So he leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she says, avoiding eye contact.

* * *

 He notices that she barely touches her food during dinner.

And, by the looks of it, no one catches onto this but him. He’s also certain she hasn’t told anyone else. He knows Donna would be all over her if she knew.

She gets up from the table abruptly and it takes every ounce of willpower in him to not chase after her into the bathroom, but he doesn’t want to upset her more. Everyone would question it, and he isn’t sure she’s ready to tell people yet.

He watches the clock tick by, waiting for Felicity to emerge but she doesn’t. 

His glass of red wine shatters on the floor when he hears Felicity scream his name from down the hall. 

“Oliver!”  

He sprints, and she opens the door just as skids in front of it.

“What happened?” He asks.

She’s crying and she’s gasping for air but she manages to get it out, “I—I’m bleeding. Oliver, I’m bleeding. The baby… this is bad. This is really bad.”

He grabs her face, “Hey! Hey, look at me. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to either one of you. Come on.” 

He picks her up in one swoop and calls after Diggle, “John, get the car!”

Dig doesn’t ask, he just complies dutifully.

Oliver sits in the back with Felicity in his arms, caressing her back, kissing her hair, and reassuring her that their baby is going to be alright.

* * *

 They don’t let him go into the room with her.

All he has time to do is _think_.

About his lies. About her accident. About her giving him back the ring. About the distance between them. About losing Laurel. About losing their baby.

Their tiny little baby. 

It’s way too early, but he just knows she’s a girl and that she’s _perfect_.

All he wants is to be on the other side of this. Past mourning, past betrayal, past destruction. In their house in Ivy Town, a giggling baby with big, blue eyes on Felicity’s hip.

He wants it so bad it hurts. And the thought of it not happening any longer? Unfathomable.

“Mr. Queen?” A nurse, no older than Felicity herself, stands before him with a clipboard and warm smile.

Once his attention is on her, she continues, “Felicity is asking for you. Would you like to come see her?”

He pops out of his seat, almost embarrassingly fast, “Yes. Please.”

* * *

He opens the door hesitantly, unsure of what’ll await him inside.

He lets out an audible breath when he sees Felicity rubbing her still-flat tummy protectively, seemingly talking to it.

His lips quirk up in a smile, he can’t help it. 

“Hey,” he says, announcing his presence in the room.

She offers him a cordial smile, “Hi.”

He walks over and pulls a chair up next to her bed.

“The baby is fine. The doctor said it was stress induced and that I should keep off my feet for the next week. I told him I can’t because I need to be at Laurel’s service and he said I could go as long as I was in a wheelchair. Which, _luckily_ , I have instant access to.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, “And what about you? You’re okay?" 

She shrugs, her hand still on her stomach, “I’m angry.”

He nods, “I know.”

“Why don’t you go home? I’m sure you’re tired.” It’s meant as a kind gesture, yet it sounds like anything but. He can sense her aversion to him. Their short-lived moment in the car born out of fear and a mutual love for their child.

He protests, “Felicity, I’m not leaving you.”

“Really? Because you’ve had no problem doing it before. Leaving for days at a time, not telling me where you actually were with the son I didn’t know you had.”

“Felicity—“

“I think you should go. I’m not supposed to be stressed, remember?”

He opens his mouth to retort, but her blue eyes almost look red and she’s right, she isn’t supposed to be stressed.

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you that everyday until you believe it.” He takes one last look at her and retreats, “Let me know if anything changes.”

* * *

Early the next morning, Lyla brings her clothes for the funeral and her toiletries.

“Oliver is going to come pick you up in about an hour,” She tells her hesitantly. 

“Lyla, I don’t know if that’s the best idea/” 

Felicity brushes out her newly washed hair with a little more force than usual.

“You need to lean on one another during this. You may not want to admit it, but you need his support just as much as he needs yours.”

“It’s not that easy."

“I’m not saying what Oliver did was right, but Felicity, you have to know it was born out of fear. Fear of losing you and fear of abandoning his son. If anyone knows that Oliver makes some questionable decisions, it’s me. But he always comes from a place of goodness. He’d never intentionally hurt you.” 

“But he did! He hurt me, Lyla! He didn’t trust me! He lied about having a child when were supposed to be getting _married_.”

“And he was dead wrong for that. But, he’s apologized and he’s groveled and you’re going to have a baby together, Felicity. You both love each other so much.” 

“Love isn’t everything, unfortunately.”

* * *

 He brings her bags down to the car and holds the door open for her as she slides in. He stays opposite her, against the window in an effort to give her some space. 

“If it gets to be too much for you, just let me know, okay?”

She bites her lip, holding back something, she doesn’t know.

“Laurel was my friend. I’m staying.”

“Of course. That’s not what I—“

“I am not a fragile doll, Oliver. I can handle myself.”

He sighs, “I know you can. I’m just saying you don’t have to. You don’t have to do this alone. Any of it.”

“Can we please not do this right now? Our friend is dead. It’s not about us.”

* * *

Everything becomes real when they see her casket being lowered into the ground.

She’s thankful for the wheelchair in that moment. She isn’t sure she’d make it standing. She’s barely keeping it together as it is.

Lance is silent and stoic. His face shows nothing. Not sadness or anger or grief. It’s just… nothingness. And no matter how hard her mom squeezes his hand, he stays cold.  


Oliver though? He’s crying. He’s wiping at his eyes constantly and she can’t help but feel terrible for him in that moment. She knows he and Laurel have had their differences, but there was so much history there. They grew up together. They loved each other once. It’s as if the last piece of his childhood, of the innocent Oliver before the island, dies along with Laurel. His dad, Moira, Tommy, and Laurel, all gone. And, according to the doctors, Thea might not be far behind.

She feels guilty keeping her distance in this moment. She knows he needs her, she knows how he longs to feel her belly, to talk to the baby, do anything to maintain a connection. But she’s just so _angry_ and Laurel’s death has just made things worse. She isn’t just mad at Oliver, she realizes. She’s mad at _life_. She’s mad at injustice. She’s mad she isn’t as good of a person as people think she is.

It all goes by in a hazy blur. Oliver wheels her over to place a rose on her casket before it’s lowered and then heads for the limo.

She hates limos. She’s afraid of limos. But Oliver had this one decked out in bulletproof glass and titanium, and she knows this is where she’s safest.

She stands up and gets in without a second glance at him. And, instead of walking around to the other side to get in with her, he puts her chair in the trunk and heads back to the grave where they’re almost done filling it up with dirt.

He waits until they’re done. She watches him. 

There’s so much regret in his face, she can still see it from here. And then she notices Barry zoom in, the ever faithful friend, and Oliver doesn’t even turn to look at him as he talks. He’s gone almost as soon as he came and he’s headed back over. She switches her gaze, trying to not let him notice she’s been watching.

She realizes as Oliver climbs in, that she doesn’t want to feel this way any longer. The regret, the helplessness, it’s eating her alive. She wants to do something about it. She wants the justice that Laurel was denied. She wants it before it’s too late for the rest of them. Too late for her child.

She can sense his discomfort sitting next to her, and she knows she’s caused it. He asks if she’s okay and he fidgets, so unsure of what he should do or how he should act.

She feels like a terrible person. But, she can’t show him her feelings now. She can’t be weak. There are things they need to do.

“You know what you have to do, right? You have to kill that son of a bitch.

* * *

He knows why she demands it. For Laurel, for Thea, for Digg, for him. But she does it mostly because of the baby.

He knows the feeling. All he wants is for this baby, and for William, is to grow and be healthy and live a life free of this darkness and pain. And, if he has to break his no-kill vow for them, he’ll do it. He’ll do it every time.

So, he does.

* * *

He shows up at her doorstep.

He’s crying and he doesn’t even know it until she reaches up and brushes away the tears with her thumbs.

“It’s over,” she coos, and pulls him in.

She strips off his leathers and leads him to a stool to sit down at the island. 

She doesn’t talk, neither does he. He just watches as she fills a teapot with water and lights the stove. 

She walks over to the living room, gets the plush blanket that they had made love on so many times before and brings it over. She drapes it over his shoulders and tends to the teapot.

She opens the cupboard and pulls out a mug.

He notices everything is on a lower shelf now. He gulps when he realizes its because she can’t reach that high by herself.

The water finally boils and she pours it in the cup, quickly reaching over into her little tea basket and pulling out a bag. She places it in and mixes with a spoon. She pours just a drop of milk and half a spoonful of sugar, just like he likes, before bringing it over to him.

He smiles at her and manages a shaky, “Thank you.”

“You can sleep here tonight, if you want. On the couch.”

He takes a sip and his eyes widen. He nods, placing down the cup, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

* * *

She wakes up at 6am on the dot, the bile in her throat ready to go as if on cue.

She makes a mad dash to the toilet and smacks her knees against the gorgeous Italian marble, and she curses Thea for buying a loft so fancy. It _hurts_.

Once her kid stops the mutiny on her body, she cleans herself up and goes to head downstairs and get herself a glass of water. She’s absolutely parched and the doctor at the hospital had warned her about monitoring her dehydration.

She sleepily makes her way down, trying not to make too much noise and wake Oliver, but before she reaches the last few stairs she realizes he’s already up. He’s on the phone and he looks concerned, and she feels like she’s intruding. But, it’s too awkward to interrupt him now so she just… waits. And, unintentionally eavesdrops. 

“I know, Bud. But it was just a dream. I promise I’m safe and that I’m not going anywhere. I am always going to protect you, ok? You don’t have to worry about _anything_. You let me do the worrying, that’s what dads are for.” He laughs, “I’m excited for the Rockets game, too. I love you too, Will. Go back to sleep. Bye, Buddy.”

She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, but she’s holding her belly. And she’s crying. But she recognized that the second he called William, “Buddy.” It’s like the clouds have parted and the skies have cleared. It’s like she can breathe again. Oliver has done a lot of wrong in his life and his deceit to her ranks up there. But, she gets it now. She understands. Because she _was_ William, anxious and scared, except no one was on the other end of the line. And she thinks, as she cradles her barely-there bump, that she would have done whatever necessary for her child, too. Albeit in a much more thoroughly researched and thought out way.

His lie was bad, but _he_ is good. And, she is so, so happy that this baby gets to have him as a dad. Because she knows he’ll never leave his kids, either of them. She knows that he’ll put them first even if it kills him to do so. She knows that they will always feel loved and wanted. Just like he’s always made her feel.

People may not change. But he isn’t people. He’s Oliver. Her Oliver. And, she agreed to love him, for better or worse. Or at least, she intended to. And, she gets what that means now. 

* * *

 She must let out a sob that she was unaware of, because Oliver’s head snaps in her direction and he’s up and off the couch in an instant, literally picking her up off the stairs as she sobs.

He places her down gently on the couch and kneels before her, his hands rubbing up and down her shoulders.

“What’s wrong, Felicity? Are you alright?" 

She nods, “I—I’m fine. I just… I—“ She can’t catch her breath from all the crying and though she’s assured Oliver she’s ok he doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks terrified. She notices his eyes fall to her stomach and she grabs his hand and places it there, “Baby’s okay, I swear.”

He relaxes, his palm holding her tiny little firm bump with total reverence. 

“Talk to me, Felicity,” he almost begs.

“I miss you,” She blurts out.

“I miss you, too. _So much_. But, I’m right here, Baby. You don’t have to miss me anymore, if you don’t want to. We don’t have to miss each other.”

She shakes her head and he wipes her tears with his thumbs. 

“I don’t want to.”

* * *

 She lets him move back in, but he stays on the couch. He doesn’t even ask to come back to bed and she loves him all the more for it.

He’s getting ready for the Rockets game and as he’s gathering his stuff to leave, Felicity appears in the living room. 

“Hey,” she says nervously, biting her lip. 

“Hey,” he smiles.

“Are you… um… are you using the Palmer Tech season tickets?”

His face drops and he almost looks embarrassed. “I am, I hope that’s okay… I just… William’s never been to a baseball game before and the seats are amazing and it gives us access to the dugout and—“

“Oliver, it’s ok,” she laughs. “I was wondering, if you don’t mind, if I could go with you guys.”

His face brightens, “You want to watch the game with me and William?”

She shakes her head, “No, I want to _spend time_ with you and William. I want to get to know your son, Oliver.”

For a second, she thinks he’s about to cry, but instead he takes two quick strides towards her and hugs her tightly to his chest, ‘Thank you.”

* * *

Felicity will never like baseball, but she finds that the Rockets game ends up being one of her favorite moments in recent memory.

William is wonderful. He’s sweet and vivacious and serious about his passions, just like Oliver, but he also has this quick wit that Felicity can’t get over. He’s a joy. She thinks about all of the horrible things Oliver did back when he was Ollie, but when the Rockets hit a game winning home run in the 9th inning and Oliver hoists William up in the air to celebrate, she knows that it wasn’t all bad. William is living proof that Oliver was always meant for more, destined to be better. William was the first step towards his new life as Oliver, he just didn’t know it yet.

* * *

They got out for pizza afterwards, because William practically begged for it, and Felicity didn’t have the heart to tell Oliver or the little boy that the mere sight of pizza makes her stomach churn. It’s a thing she’ll have to take up with the baby once its born. No kid of hers is going to go on hating pizza. It’s just… wrong. 

They order a large pie with extra cheese and she holds her breath as the smell wafts over the table and into her sensitive nostrils.

The boys are so caught up into rehashing the game that neither notice her face turn gray. She’s eleven weeks along now and she can safely say that she is so. freakin. over this. 

She bolts from the table and sprints to the bathroom, but not before Oliver comes in just behind her, closing the door and dropping to his knees as the exact same time as she does.

She throws up like she never has before and Oliver grunts as if he’s the one in pain.

“Damn it, Felicity. I’m so sorry. The last time you were around pizza this happened, too. I’m an idiot.” 

She chokes out the last of the vomit and he’s already wiping at her mouth, placing kisses to her sweaty forehead.

“It’s not your fault, Oliver. I thought I could handle it.”

He looks so guilty, but he manages to smile down at her, “No you didn’t. You came here because you knew how much William wanted to.”

She smiles back weakly and shrugs, “Maybe.”

He laughs and kisses her forehead, “You’re remarkable.”

She inhales his scent and relaxes into him, “Thank you for remarking on it.”

* * *

By the time they drive back to Central City to drop William back off at his house, he’s fast asleep in the back seat. 

Felicity smiles at the sight and takes a quick picture on her phone to capture the moment.

Oliver catches her in his peripheral and squeezes her thigh.

They park in front of the quaint craftsman house that William’s called home his whole life and suddenly Felicity becomes very nervous.

She’s met Samantha before, but never like this. Never in her _home_.   

Oliver quickly opens her door for her before retrieving William from the backseat. As if he sensed her anxiety he grips her hand and they walk together to the front door.

Samantha answers it before they can even knock, and there’s no hiding that she’s shocked to see Felicity there. 

“Felicity joined William and I at the game today. Wanted to see what those Palmer Tech VIP seats she’s funding were all about,” Oliver quips.

It earns a pitiful smile from Samantha. She frowns, noticing that William is fast asleep and that he’s much too big now for her to carry him up the stairs any longer.

She lets Felicity and Oliver in and to Felicity’s surprise, she even lets Oliver go upstairs and tuck the boy in alone.

Which leaves her alone with Oliver’s baby mama.

Actually, it leaves her alone with Oliver’s _other_ baby mama. Because technically, right now, she is very much a baby mama.

“Can I get you anything?” Samantha asks.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m alright.” 

“You’re sure? Coffee? Tea?” Samantha wrings out her hands, and it’s clear she’s as nervous as Felicity is.

“Samantha, I’m fine, really,” Felicity says kindly and the other woman lets out a breath. 

“I owe you an apology,” Samantha says, without ceremony. 

Felicity scrunches up her face, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I’m sorry for forcing Oliver to lie to you. It wasn’t fair and it was selfish, but I was so scared, Felicity. At that point, you weren’t a person to me. You were— an abstract concept.”

She paces in front of her and she can tell that Samantha has rehearsed this conversation many times over. It makes Felicity soften to her even more. 

“But then, I saw what that secret did to you and Oliver’s relationship and I couldn’t help but feel completely responsible for it all. Because… Because William wasn’t just mine to keep as much as I wanted him to be. He’s half Oliver and you come with Oliver and not letting him be a part of both of your lives was _destructive_.”

Felicity goes to speak but it’s clear that Samantha isn’t done.

“I just want you to know that it wasn’t intentional, any of it. It wasn’t so I could… get Oliver to myself or anything like that. He loves you so much, Felicity, and I don’t want to do anything else to come between that. William’s a happier boy for having his father in his life and I know that Oliver isn’t a changed man by accident. It’s because of you. You made him better. So, really, I should be thanking you. Thank you for giving my son the father he deserves.” 

Felicity is dumbstruck. Not only is she exhausted from the day’s events and the little human growing within her, but this conversation was just about the most emotionally taxing thing to process since her and Oliver’s falling out.

So, as is protocol these days she doesn’t say anything. She just starts to sob.

“Oh god, Felicity, please don’t cry,” Samantha says apologetically. She’s hesitant to come any closer to the crying woman, because she doesn’t even know why she’s crying in the first place.

Oliver, of course, decides to come into the living room in this horribly awkward moment.

“Felicity?” He asks breathlessly. He’s kneeling before her in an instant, cupping her face.

“Hey, hey, breathe,” he whispers and urges her to follow his deep inhale and exhale breathing patterns. It works and she calms herself down and Samantha appears with a glass of ice water and a box of tissues.

Felicity smiles pathetically at her as Oliver holds the cup up to her mouth to drink.

She gulps it down and feels much better.

“Thank you,” she tells Samantha.

“I’m sorry to have made you cry, it wasn’t my intention—“

“It’s not your fault I’m overly hormonal,” Felicity quips without thinking.

Oliver’s eyes go wide and Samantha’s do too.

She doesn’t have to elaborate. Samantha is a smart girl and she’s been in her position before. She puts two and two together in an instant.

“Does William know?” She asks, looking forlorn.

“No, we wanted to wait. Once Felicity’s out of her first trimester. 

Samantha nods quietly, “Congratulations.”

Felicity understands her hesitance. She remembers as a little girl, wondering if her father had gotten remarried. Had other children that he loved, that he lived with.

She knows Samantha’s worrying about William getting lost in the fray. That Oliver’s attention will be taken away by the newness of a little baby… one that he conceived with the love of his life, not during a drunken one night stand. 

“We’re really excited to tell him. Oliver and I talked about having them put it up on the jumbotron at a Rockets game that he’s going to be a big brother,” Felicity smiles, Oliver squeezing her hand.

This seems to improve Samantha’s spirits, “That’s very thoughtful.” 

“We love him, Samantha. And, we’re going to do everything we can to make sure he feels included.”

Samantha sucks in a breath and looks Felicity directly in the eye for the first time all night, “I know. _Thank you_.”

That night, after their long drive home, Felicity leads Oliver up to bed.

“You’re sure?” He asks her before mounting the stairs.

She bites her lip and nods, and takes his hand in hers.

* * *

She never thought it’d happen like this. Soft and slow, cradled in the arms of the man she had thought she’d lost forever, in the bed they once shared.

It was tender and sweet. Their eyes never leaving each other’s. And as she came down from her high, he placed the softest of kisses to her temple.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I am so, so sorry for everything—“

She shushes him. 

“I forgive you.”

It’s said without controversy. Without pain. Without the heaviness that has hung over Felicity’s words since she found out who William was. She says it matter-of-factly, because it’s true. And he can’t believe it.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he shakes his head, eyes welling.

“You do. You’ve shown me that you do, Oliver. Keep showing me.”


End file.
